Life or death: A story of five dogs

Bethany Heins, live release manager for Animal Care Services, cuddles with Lucy as Josie looks on. The pit bull mixes were likely owned as they were wearing collars when they were picked up by ACS. They were loving and affectionate, but finding a home for Lucy would prove challenging. less

Bethany Heins, live release manager for Animal Care Services, cuddles with Lucy as Josie looks on. The pit bull mixes were likely owned as they were wearing collars when they were picked up by ACS. They were ... more

Photo: Lisa Krantz, San Antonio Express-News

Photo: Lisa Krantz, San Antonio Express-News

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Bethany Heins, live release manager for Animal Care Services, cuddles with Lucy as Josie looks on. The pit bull mixes were likely owned as they were wearing collars when they were picked up by ACS. They were loving and affectionate, but finding a home for Lucy would prove challenging. less

Bethany Heins, live release manager for Animal Care Services, cuddles with Lucy as Josie looks on. The pit bull mixes were likely owned as they were wearing collars when they were picked up by ACS. They were ... more

Photo: Lisa Krantz, San Antonio Express-News

Life or death: A story of five dogs

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SAN ANTONIO — Time was running out for Lucy and Josie.

Their journey started on a rainy October morning when they were picked up blocks apart on San Antonio's West Side.

It was early November and the two were sitting side by side in tall black cages at Animal Care Services headquarters out on Texas 151.

Pit bull mixes of medium size, Lucy and Josie each had reddish-brown fur and wide, pleading eyes. At a casual glance, they could have been sisters. They also shared a way of wandering toward the front of their cages and mugging for attention.

“Obviously, we would love for their owners to come forward and claim them back.”

Or for a stranger to adopt them. Otherwise, this was it. After eight days at ACS, Lucy and Josie would be euthanized.

Minutes ticked away. A few people walked by the cages, unaware of the high stakes. Hardly anyone noticed the two pups. Eventually, Bethany Heins, live release manager for ACS, wandered over. Lucy crawled into her lap. Again and again, Josie, with big pointy ears, leaned and nuzzled into Heins. They craved loving attention.

You never know, Heins said, someone could still rescue them.

But the day was getting late. Shadows grew long as the sun dipped below the horizon.

First, capture

The idea was simple enough. Follow five dogs through the ACS system.

There were Lucy and Josie.

There was Justin, an adorable terrier mix with gray fur and a long black snout. There was Chuck, a white Labrador mix with a puffy chest and a big bite mark on his face.

And there was Joe, as ACS briefly named him.

Unlike the others, Joe was a true street dog. He was the first call for ACS Officer Joe Cortez on the morning of Oct. 30. He was also the most challenging.

When we pulled up to the home in the 78228 ZIP code on the West Side, one of the city's leading ZIP codes for bites, Joe was tied up in a front yard with white and green rope.

The small, brown home stood beside a dry canal, a veritable freeway for strays. A resident there said so many dogs wandered through her front yard, sometimes she was afraid to get out of her car.

A symphony of barking sounded along the street, prompted by a lanky black mutt a block away. Cortez briefly chased a particularly brazen tan-and-white dog to no avail. Dogs darted in and out of the canal.

Cortez, a big man with a gentle demeanor, stepped into the front yard. With a long pole, he gently placed a noose around Joe's neck. He cut the green-and-white rope.

The dog howled, twisting, snarling and snapping when Cortez began moving him. It was a gut-wrenching sound that made all the dogs' ears perk up.

“It's OK, you're going to be all right,” Cortez said, his voice soft.

But Joe only howled as Cortez dragged him to the truck until the dog lay down on the asphalt, writhing.

“Hey, you're going to be all right,” Cortez said.

Cortez then reached out to pet the dog's hind leg, but Joe whipped around and bit at his hand.

Some get away

Throughout the morning, Cortez lost more dogs than he caught, and sometimes folks would look on, like it was a show, and root for the dogs to get away. There was a certain natural selection at play — and a dog such as Joe was the exception.

After loading Joe into the truck, Cortez chased a massive black dog, which wasn't neutered, of course. It was a wild chase through yards and alleys — backward, forward, up and down streets — until Cortez lost him in the canal.

Later, Cortez tried to lasso a diminutive brown mutt on Zarzamora Street but missed. The mutt burst into traffic and was clipped, ever so slightly, by a car. It hobbled away with a ginger limp (eventually a relative of the owner claimed it).

The dogs Cortez did catch were almost willing partners. Cortez often would crouch down and extend an arm to gain their trust.

Lucy was caught sitting outside a Laundromat on Zarzamora Street. A puppy by her side sprinted away.

Justin, the terrier mix, was standing in the street of the Cassiano Homes housing project, on the West Side. Cortez scooped him into his arms.

Josie, the other pit mix, practically ran into Cortez's arms. The pack she was with fled.

And Chuck, a white lab caught on the South Side, was a surprise find. Cortez had been called for an emaciated boxer left in a front yard without food and water.

He couldn't do anything about it — the dog was secured on someone's property — so he left a 24-hour notice saying ACS would be back to check on the boxer's welfare.

Then, he walked across the street and dutifully put a rope around Chuck's neck. He petted Chuck on the head and loaded him into the truck. The boxer continued to bark.

Lucy, Josie at the brink

The San Antonio Area Foundation has estimated there are more than 150,000 roaming dogs here, although that number may be flawed.

But at ACS headquarters on Texas 151, it seemed like a reasonable best guess. Out back, Cortez parked his truck and waited for intake.

Joshua Chronley, a vet tech, paused at Lucy. He thought she might be pregnant. He wasn't sure, but the odds were certainly strong.

“She's a stray dog in San Antonio,” he quipped. “They are all pregnant.”

It can seem that way

Animal Care Services was required to keep the dogs for at least three days after intake. Dogs that might have owners, such as Lucy and Josie, were given at least five days.

The clock had started.

Joe was euthanized after three days.

With thousands of dogs coming through ACS, space is a premium. Could a rescue group have saved him?

Of course, said Jules Benson, a veterinarian with Petplan pet insurance, but it's a question of resources.

“Can we have one person working with this dog four hours a day to acclimate it?” he said. “Or is that one person for those four hours a day going to help 10 or 20 other dogs come through the adoption process and find homes?”

There is no right answer to that question, he said.

Chuck, the white lab mix, and Justin, the terrier, were quickly slated for rescue groups. Interest in these two was strong. Chuck was a popular breed. Justin was cute.

But Lucy and Josie proved more complicated. There are countless pit bull mixes at ACS — all with pleading eyes.

It didn't help they had been placed in the controversial Brooks City-Base shelter. At that time, Brooks, off-limits to the public, was an overflow shelter for ACS.

This meant dogs there were up for adoption, but they were difficult for the public to see. This only raised questions about conditions.

On a tour, ACS officials defended Brooks, saying while it is old, with corrugated metal and open-air kennels, it does the job. It could hold 100 animals.

Between fiscal 2011 and 2013, ACS improved its live-release rate for animals from 32 percent to 77 percent. Critics, though, have said that more animals are now just dying on the streets.

Still, everyone agreed the Brooks situation wasn't ideal. To give the Brooks dogs more exposure, ACS posted mug shots online and would bring them to headquarters on Texas 151 at the request of interested potential owners. They even filmed web videos.

For the past few days, Lucy and Josie had been shuttling from Brooks to temporary cages for additional exposure.

A red banner hung above them.

“Brooks Dogs,” it said in white letters. “Save a life, adopt your new best friend today!”

No one adopted Lucy and Josie from ACS.

At the 11th hour, San Antonio Pets Alive, a no-kill non-profit, rescued them. On a daily basis, rescue groups pluck dogs from the euthanasia list.

A few days later, the state approved Brooks as a rabies quarantine center for dogs connected to bite cases.

Before this, such dogs had been kept at the Texas 151 headquarters. This change meant all adoptable dogs would stay at ACS headquarters, where people seeking a pet could see them.

Animal advocates cheered this improvement, although they still view Brooks as substandard and would like it to either be closed or subject to more independent reviews.

The churn

Animal Care Services works with 122 approved rescue groups and more than 300 foster homes.

This network is crucial to the improved live-release rate, but it's also incredibly varied.

Lucy and Josie went to the Paul Jolly Center for Pet Adoptions at Brackenridge Park, a sparkling new kennel run by San Antonio Pets Alive that replaced an older shelter.

Since opening in October, it has become a symbol of how animal welfare has changed in San Antonio.

In 2004, as many as 50,000 animals died at the old animal shelter there. Now it is a no-kill refuge.

Justin and Chuck ended up in less conventional spaces. Justin, the terrier mix, was placed with Missy's Haven, a small shelter near Calaveras State Park run by Michelle Holmes and three other volunteers. It is on her property, and Holmes handles about 23 dogs at any one time.

Placed with a group of small dogs, Justin had a yard to run in. Holmes had built an upscale wooden shed, designed to feel like a home.

Justin ran in and out of a dog door, scrambling over other little dogs. It was a bit like dog paradise. He would stay here for at least 21 days before being put up for adoption. But there was no rush to place him.

“We pull the ones that are either too small or too young or they've been overlooked for some reason or another,” she said. “We saw him, and he was different.”

Chuck was placed with Cressie Animal Refuge & Enrichment, or CARE, which is more of a clearinghouse. He was temporarily placed with a veterinarian.

The folks at CARE quickly changed his name to Duke, reflecting his regal vibe.

“He's a confident dog,” said Peggy Brink, who founded and runs CARE.

After a brief bout with kennel cough, Duke found a home.

But complications quickly arose. In fact, of the four living dogs, only Josie was quickly adopted.

Duke and Justin struggled with behavior issues.

Within days at his new home, Duke was snapping at pretty much everyone: his new owner, cats, other dogs. There was so much aggression that Jeff Rosenberg, Duke's owner, took him back.

It was about 6:45 on a December morning. We were standing in the darkness outside the DeZavala-Shavano Veterinary Clinic.

“I'm sorry it didn't work out, Duke, but the rest of the family was just turned upside down,” Rosenberg said.

Duke just sat there. A number of animal experts said dogs, not just rescue, need at least a week to break into a new home. It's best not to introduce them to other dogs right away.

“They don't even begin to show a somewhat normal behavior for at least five days,” said Bonnie Beaver, a veterinary professor at Texas A&M University and a specialist in animal behavior.

Dogs are resilient, she said. With time, they will settle down, especially once they are on a set schedule.

The biggest unknown with rescue dogs is what they experienced in other homes, she said.

When I called Brink about Duke's return, she echoed those thoughts. But she also said she understood why Rosenberg brought Duke back. It was probably not the right fit.

She was moving quickly to find Duke a new home. There was a ranch in Frio County where he could be a work dog. It was a promising fit.

But in general terms, she expressed frustration about the constant churn of dogs. Duke probably once belonged to someone.

“Just in general, I think that the situation in San Antonio is really a crisis,” she said. “I really feel people have to take responsibility for their own pets. I think they make decisions, and when the decision sometimes becomes inconvenient, they are looking to somehow get out of that.”

After rescue, it often will take weeks, or even months, for a dog's true personality to emerge, experts said. This was true for Justin, who morphed from a timid little dog to a yappy barker.

He barked so often that at a December adoption event at Petco, Holmes placed a blanket over his cage just to get him to quiet down. He was still adjusting to his new life.

“I don't think he is used to the loving that he gets,” she said.

Holmes was balancing two forces with Justin.

Justin was so cute, Holmes was certain plenty of people would want to adopt him. But he barked so much, and his energy was so high, she worried he might end up back on the street.

“The right person is going to come along and adopt him,” she said. “But he is a good dog.”

A happy ending

Of all the dogs, Lucy best reflected the animal welfare challenges in San Antonio — and the promise of change.

Owned and then dumped on the West Side. She was almost put down with ACS but then was rescued by San Antonio Pets Alive.

She wasn't fixed and, in fact, was pregnant.

In addition to being spayed, she also had a late-term abortion. If she hadn't been caught, her puppies might now be roaming the streets. The puppy with her when she was caught? It might have been hers.

Animal Care Services has dramatically increased spay/neuter surgeries from about 5,500 in fiscal 2011 to about 9,400 in fiscal 2013. Other groups also perform these surgeries.

Kathy Davis, director of ACS, has said spay/neuter is the key long-term solution to the roaming dog crisis in San Antonio (so is keeping pets leashed or contained). There is no quick fix.

But for all Lucy had been through, there is, at least, a happy ending.

After a few weeks in San Antonio Pets Alive, she was adopted by a volunteer dog walker.

“I never got the feeling that she was scared of me when I would go walk her,” said Alyssa Roessel, a nurse.

In her new home, just before Christmas, Lucy bounded around with a breezy lightness. She would stand on two legs, almost hugging Roessel.

It was a long way from the Laundromat parking lot on Zarzamora. It was a long way from running out of time at ACS.

It was the end of a difficult journey, the start of life in a safe and loving home.